“It was very late on a Saturday night; the place was packed. Two women in plaid skirts and T-shirts which read ‘Go Satan’ were running around, spanking people. There were four cops there, friends of Mr. Westmoreland, who was shirtless and had over 20 drinks in him. A pretty bartender was pouring shots down his throat. I motioned that I wanted a drink. From 20 feet away, Mr. Westmoreland heaved a Heineken my way. The wet bottle slid off my hand and shattered. I missed the next two. Then I noticed that my hand was covered in blood. Just before I left for the emergency room, Mr. Westmoreland stood up on the bar and ran the full length of it, breaking glasses and sending stuff flying.”